The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ye Scholars of Socinus mock not here,
Nor force, from Christian Minds these Maxims dear—
Deem not such Faith mad Phantasms or mere Dreams,
Which gave his gracious thoughts their gravest Themes.
How do the Scriptures, how doth Reason, prove
No heavenly Influence human Minds can move;
Or that pure Spirit, the prompt Soul implores,
Man's Pow'rs, and Privileges, ne'er restores?
Ne'er strengthens Reason, ne'er assists the Will,
To guide the Passions, or to keep them still;
Or helps their views and efforts to reduce
Pride—Passions—Appetites—to pristine use?
Ne'er fines Affections, or renews their force,
Tho' seeking daily at the sacred Source?
Will He, the Parent of the human Race
Refuse His Offspring needful gifts of Grace?
That glorious God, who rear'd, and rules, the Skies,
As good as great and willing as He's wise—
Will He, while blest with Wisdom's boundless Light
Leave His own Family in Nature's Night?
Possest of boundless Knowledge still deny
His christian Children who for Wisdom cry?
Doth He less love the Souls of Saints on Earth,
Than those who gave their groveling Bodies birth?
Will natural Parents, when pin'd Households moan,
Withhold their Bread, and give each Child a Stone?
When they, with ardent Bosoms, humbly beg,
Present a Scorpion when they ask an Egg?
Or, when they warmly supplicate for Fish.
Deal each a Serpent, or some poisonous Dish?

If earthly Father then yield Nature's dues,
Will Love, itself, such gracious Gifts refuse,
While Offspring's daily Pray'rs, and pure Desires,
And Faith, and Hope, and Love that Love inspires!
Can He then mock the Wish His Word commands
To seek such Favours from His heavenly Hands!

Can He, Man's Maker—Saviour—Lord—divine—
Father, and Friend, His Progeny enjoin
To beg such Blessings; ask; and seek; and knock?
Yet still refuse them to His little Flock?
All pure conditions of His publish'd Will?
With promises to all who thus fulfil?
And all acknowledg'd as His written Word?
'Tis Foolish! impious! blasphemous! absurd!

Is Christ unwilling? Is His Grace grown weak?
Or would such System His first bias break?
Can Matter's mutual particles impinge,
Or, on each other, intimately, hinge;
Or, put in motion by some pow'rful sway,
Move every mass of Matter in its way,
Till, by some Spirit's pow'r, again, imprest,
It reassumes, inert, its natural rest?
And cannot Spirit, thus, on Spirit act,
By innate pow'r, or by some mutual pact?
May not the Maker of each human Soul
Impel to action, or its acts controul?
Or will the Governor of Nature grutch
With His pure Spirit Man's prone Mind to touch?
Doth He, indifferent, look on all below?
His Offspring's Ignorance? Weakness? Want? and Woe?
Nor let His Love—His Goodness—or His Grace—
Compassionate, and help, the ruin'd Race?
But like an idle, arbitrary, Turk,
Despise, neglect, or hate, His Handy-work;
And haughtily refuse His help to reach
To guard, to guide, to strengthen, or to teach?
Or, is it in the fancied Book of Fate,
No Pow'r on human Minds can operate!
Not even His who form'd all Nature's Frame,
Who gave all Life, and can all Life reclaim?
Crispin found written in Heav'n's favourite Book,
In which his eye would oft delight to look,
His mental eye, which markt the converse clear,
As written with meridian sunbeams there.

Fill'd with such Faith how could His heart avoid
To beg that help against base Lust and Pride;
And that His Light would lead both Mind and Pen,
To honour Christ and counsel mortal Men.
What Sentiments and Truths, well understood,
When practis'd might produce the greatest Good.
How blessed Faith, and Hope, and Peace, below,
Pure Spirit may on peccant Minds bestow;
Rich Comforts, Unbelievers ne'er behold,
And Consolations, here, an hundred-fold;
With all the boundless Happiness above,
That springs from perfect Holiness and Love!

He strove not, by his mental toils, alone,
To make his gnawing cares, and conflicts, known—
Not by satyric labours to obtain
One soul, unsanctified, of graceless gain;
Or some frail edifice of Rhyme to raise,
With weakly hope, to win perpetual praise;
Much less with Spite and Malice to asperse
One virtuous Character with vicious Verse—
Not ev'n to castigate that cruel Heart
Which pierc'd his own, so oft, with pungent smart—
And what's far worse, his Children's bosoms tore,
While Daphne's Heart still felt its miseries more!
Yet when his wounded Soul was deeply griev'd,
In God's blest Government his Mind believ'd;
Which kept his irritable strains from sight,
Till Her perturbed Spirit left the light.

Meantime his Heart's pure pathos, oft implor'd
The God he worshipp'd—honour'd—lov'd—ador'd—
That Heart to actuate—influence—guide—and guard—
His Will to stimulate, or Work retard—
Each favourite view to frustrate, or fulfil,
Accordant with His own unerring Will.
That His pure Spirit would those Pow'rs withhold
Self-love might sacrifice to Fame, or Gold;
Or pain, or pleasure, in one Heart produce
But for His Glory, and their gracious Use.

	CHAPTER 17th. The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse